


Stop the World. Take a Picture

by Ravensmores



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Don't copy to another site, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Miscommunication, More tags to be added, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Post-Canon, Rating May Change, Reconciliation, Strained Relationships, Stress, Why can’t these two just talk to eachother, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18561910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravensmores/pseuds/Ravensmores
Summary: He doesn’t move, but sees Victor slowly turn until the blurred shadow of his silhouette lies parallel to him. The chill of the ice still clings to his clothes, the smell of old coffee a rich note with each gentle exhale. Even in the darkness the soft blue of his eyes shine like a distant lighthouse through the mist.They used to be his anchor, his way home. But now he’s more lost than ever, the sea of everything going on around them forever beating him back against the rocks until he lost the energy to even try and swim away.





	1. I am here. I am here on an island.

**Author's Note:**

> 1001 words of angst because I’ve been feeling pretty angsty myself recently.

It’s dark when Yuuri opens his eyes.

It’s like he’s being pulled from the bottom of a restless sea, the confusing tapestry of dreams slowly dissolving into puddles of fading sound and colour until the soft edges of his room blurrily take shape around him.

He slowly rubs his eyes, fingers biting a little harder than they needed to into his skin so he can pull himself into the present. He knows he hasn’t been sleeping long, the cool from his toothpaste still lingering a little at the back of his mouth, the tiredness of the day’s training still softly burning in his joints like the embers of a dying bonfire.

He holds in the groan when he registers the gentle pad of feet against the carpet, the smell of the Spring’s wind permeating the still air of the room.

_Not again._

He’d stopped waiting up days ago, deciding it was better to leave the other coffee in the microwave and scoot over to the far side of the bed so he couldn’t hear the door opening.

He needed his sleep. The ice was where he was useful and he was done letting his body deteriorate all for the sake of a quiet hello and a tired glare.

_Welcome to your happily ever after Yuuri._

He feels the dip of the mattress as Victor sits down, the sound of his sigh whispering coldly around the walls followed by the gentle slap of his head hitting his upturned palms. He’s heard it before. The sound of Victor’s defeat is practically sewn into the duvet around him. It used to break his heart, but apparently all the effort in the world wasn’t enough to help him anymore.

Yuuri doesn’t need to wonder what he looks like, the sight of dishevelled hair, bleach-white skin and aching purple smudges under his eyes still a stark memory from where he’d looked across from the other end of the rink earlier. He wanted to say something, the same way he’d wanted to say something for weeks now. Every time Victor fell, every time he heard something crash in the shower, every time he could feel his body shaking with deathly silent sobs next to him, but the words were always batted away with the same cold indifference.

In the end he decided it was best not to comment anymore. He knows ignoring the issue won’t make it go away, but frankly he’s tired of trying to find solutions for something that clearly isn’t meant to be mended.

There’s a vague shuffle and a soft thump against the carpet, perhaps from Victor removing his shoes, before Yuuri feels his full weight drop next to him.

He doesn’t move, but sees Victor slowly turn until the blurred shadow of his silhouette lies parallel to him. The chill of the ice still clings to his clothes, the smell of old coffee a rich note with each gentle exhale. Even in the darkness the soft blue of his eyes shine like a distant lighthouse through the mist.

They used to be his anchor, his way home. But now he’s more lost than ever, the sea of everything going on around them forever beating him back against the rocks until he lost the energy to even try and swim away.

They widen a little when Victor sees that he’s woken him.

“Yuuri?” His voice is sandpapery and hushed. Exhausted.

“Mmmmm.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, trying to focus on Victor’s face. His expression is like a faraway breeze. Cold. Not quite in the same moment.

“No it’s not. You have to be up early.”

Yuuri sighs and turns away from him, the muted look on his face just a little too raw to handle right now. “It’s not like it’s the first time.” He doesn’t feel guilty about being snide. He’s too tired to care.

They both knew that Victor remaining his coach and competing at the same time was going to be a challenge, but he’d waved it off, so sure of himself as the Ice God that he once was that no amount of work could wear him down. He’d been untouchable ever since he first placed a blade on the ice, what was this challenge to someone like _Victor Nikiforov?_

Nothing could possibly break him.

He feels Victor’s exhale brush the skin of his back, leaving the softest patch of warmth. Yuuri flinches away, the ghost of intimacy almost as painful as a physical strike.

He hears the gentlest squeak of the mattress as Victor rolls to the other side of the bed, the sheets pulled taught between them.

Yuuri wants to wonder how they got here or even where _here_ really is, but he knows there isn’t a real answer. It had started as a crack, the smallest split as their schedules got busier  but it had worn away oh so slowly, like the ocean beating at the cliffs, until Yuuri felt like they were standing on opposite continents. Even the ice between them didn’t feel strong enough for them to meet in the middle anymore.

“Maybe whoever gets in last should sleep in the guest bedroom.” Victor’s words are calm. As nonchalant as if he’d just suggested what to have for dinner tomorrow.

Uncaring.

Yuuri clenches a fist into the sheets. He wants to turn around. Wants more then anything to somehow make this right, find the way back to where they were when he first arrived, when things were easy. Wants to pull him close and whisper a thousand apologies into his chest until his skin is pink and wet with all his regret.

_I miss you._

_I’m so angry but I’m scared to tell you._

_Please just talk to me._

Eventually he closes his eyes again and pushes his head further into the pillow, trying to ignore the reddened glare of the alarm pointedly reminding him that he has to be up in three hours for training.

“Yeah. Maybe.”


	2. Somewhere in between your life and your work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, talking can be harder than you first think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has to get worse before it can get better

_“Ah!”_

The spray from the shower slaps like ice against his skin, the sting from the blast doing nothing to help the deep ache he can still feel blooming like wildfire in his joints.

Not that he didn’t deserve it.

Eventually he’d stopped looking Yakov’s way when he slipped on every single quad he’d tried during practice, the ice biting again and again against his side and his hands and his hips every time he pulled out of the rotation. He’d barely been at it for an hour before there was a hand on his shoulder, a gruff voice in his ear telling him to go and come back “ _when his head was on straight.”_

He laughs bitterly at the words. Frankly he’s not even sure if he can remember how to think clearly, all his thoughts pinched into an endless headache caused by a delightful cocktail of near-constant worry about his career and the fresh prick of tears that seemed to flood like an overflowing sink everytime he got back to an empty bed.

Not that the physical pain from completely throwing himself into his skating was helping much either.

His whole body smarts like he’d been stretched and compressed like an accordion, the only solace from his miserable day at practice being the promise of a decent shower when he got home.

_Home._

He turns to press his head against the slippery cool of the tiles on the walls, hoping it could somehow seep into the smouldering mess of his mind right now. Once upon a time this was going to be his home. A home he’d dreamed about having for weeks after the Grand Prix Final.

As he runs his hands through his hair, visions of him when he first arrived swim in a soft mess of pastel colours through his mind. The air was a burnt chill in his lungs, his legs aching from running all the way from the station, but hadn’t cared. There at the end of the bridge, silhouetted by a crisp blue sky was what he’d been dreaming about the whole flight.

_Soft eyes, pink ears, that sweet stupid heart shaped smile that was already breaking into a full adorable grin as he holds out his arms to bring him-_

He slams the side of his fist into the wall until the images dissolve into the smudged darkness behind his eyelids. That was barely a couple of months ago and yet somehow those feelings felt like they existed in another lifetime.

The pain registers more firmly in his hand as he pulls away, the cold water spraying his side again.

 _“Motherfucker.”_ He bites down the rest of his curses as he steps away from the chilled rainfall pouring from the showerhead, waiting for the water to warm.

He waits. And waits. And waits.

After five minutes and no change to the cold mist whispering against his chest, he feels his last iota of patience start to snap.

 _“God damnit.”_ He shuts off the water and slings a towel around his waist, pointedly ignoring the mess of a man he can see out of the corner of his eye in the mirror. His looks really aren’t what he’s bothered about right now anyway.

Walking into the hallway, he’s surprised to see Victor’s gearbag open and messy on the kitchen counter, the man himself rounding the corner with a glass of water in hand.

His eyes widen in surprise when he sees Yuuri. “Oh. Hey.” He’s clearly just been for a run. Cheeks flushed, shirt dark with sweat, hair a tousled mess and stuck down to his forehead from where his hat had been clamped over his ears. “I thought you were at practice until six?”

A few weeks ago Yuuri would have found the whole image adorable, would have teased and ruffled the hair around his ears until they were both laughing.

Such casual touches somehow felt almost inappropriate now.

He feels his eyes burn a little at the thought.

“There’s no hot water,” he murmurs as Victor sits down on the couch, immediately looking away and scrolling through his phone.

“I’ll call someone later.” His voice is flat. Uninterested. His head doesn’t move from where he’s staring at the small screen.

It’s _aggravating_.

Yuuri exhales slowly through his teeth, closing his eyes and counting to five as a fresh wave of anger steams like water from the onsen under his skin. Opening them he notices Victor peeling off his socks and throwing them towards the hamper in the corner of the room.

They miss by quite a margin. He doesn’t move to collect them.

Red flashes behind Yuuri’s eyes as he marches with purpose over to him, one thought suddenly screaming louder than any foghorn in his head.

_No, they are not doing this anymore._

Yuuri stands directly in front of him and waits, arms folded. He knows he should feel a little stupid, dressed in only a towel and still wet from the shower, but he was sick of dancing around the problem.

He isn’t going to be silent anymore.

Victor finally raises his head with the same flat expression he’s been sporting for days now and slowly looks Yuuri up and down. “What happened to your side?”

Yuuri glances to his ribs, remembering the large purplish bruise he’d noticed blooming in the locker room earlier. It’s more than a little sore. “I fell. A lot.”

“That’s not like you.” The smallest flash of concern melts through his expression as he leans in a little, reaching out his hand and gently caressing around the damaged skin. “Does it hurt?”

Yuuri wants to feel something at the small display of kindness, wants to collapse next to him and spill all his pain and fear like a broken faucet until Victor whispered and stroked it all away… but he knows he can’t.

Knows it isn’t like that anymore.

He flinches at the touch, backing away slowly and pulling the towel more firmly around him. He keeps his eyes set on Victor, trying to ignore the lines starting to etch their way into the marble of his skin, the way his cheekbones stand out in more prominent points against the shadowed hollows of his cheeks.

He takes a breath, talking firmly on the exhale. “Well maybe you should actually take the time to look at what your student is doing for once.”

Yuuri sees his words hit Victor, sees the way his eyebrows pinch together, his gaze hardening as he folds his hands back in is lap.

He expects some kind of biting retort, a poisoned shout, some burning quip about how he’s busy or how Yuuri can do things on his own and that he’d get to him eventually.

He’ll take anything. He just wants to hear his voice for more than ten second intervals for once.

It doesn’t come.

Victor stares him down for a few more seconds before shaking his head and muttering something short and cold in Russian as he stands.

“Victor.”

“I need to wash.” The words are quiet as he walks past him towards the bathroom.

“I already said there’s no hot-”

“I don’t care.” His words are flippant, but he pauses in the doorway, hand resting on the knob. Yuuri sees his shoulder sag as he exhales, turning his head but not quite meeting his eye as he speaks. “Put some arnica cream on that.”

Yuuri isn’t sure what exactly it is, but it’s _something._ Something about the dismissive tone, the facade of care, the absolute refusal to even _try_ that has any semblance of composure shattering like a wine glass against the asphalt.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Yuuri is by Victor’s side in seconds, voice finally matching the fire of annoyance he can feel burning in his chest.

Victor doesn’t flinch at the outburst, just turns a little so he can rest on the doorframe. “What?”

“You know what.”

Victor cocks his head, eyes narrowing. “Funnily enough I’m not a mind reader Yuuri, so you’re going to have to tell me.”

“Victor, please. Please just-” _Listen._ “Just-” _do something._ “Just-” _Tell me you still want me here._

Yuuri can feel his words shaking. All the flames, the anger, the _frustration_ was nothing compared to the sheer amount of fear that was gaping like a cavern in his gut. Not just about his career, but about him. About _them._

All this didn’t matter. Not really. He still loves this man more than he ever thought he could love anything, and being able to do nothing while he’s clearly hurting so much felt like a knife twisting a little bit more with each passing glance. Each sorrowful stare or mumbled greeting like he was little more than a passing stranger.

Yuuri takes another breath and lifts his hand to rest on the warm, damp curve of Victor’s shoulder. _“Just talk to me.”_

He sees it. The briefest flicker of _something_ break through the hardened ice of Victor’s expression. Something that causes his eyes to well, his lips to softly part, his posture to slacken-

“There’s nothing to say,” he answers coolly, stony persona back in place as he shakes Yuuri’s hand from his shoulder and turns into the bathroom. “Go lie down. You need to rest.”

He watches the door knob turn, hears the click of the lock before what Victor says fully sinks in.

_Rest. Right. I can do that._

Yuuri counts each of his steps as he walks into the guest bedroom, concentrates on the small mechanical movements of his hands and feet as he pulls on the spare sweatpants he has in one of the drawers and carefully sits on the edge of the bed.

Yuuri waits until he hears the smack of the water running before he lets himself cry. Cry and cry and cry until he isn’t sure he has any tears left to shed. He isn’t silent. Ugly, grating sobs shake from his chest like a car that can’t start, his body heaving dry, painful coughs until he feels like some dried husk, his whole being begging for it to stop.

Eventually through the broken noise he hears something. Footsteps. A gentle padding slowly making its way to the door before it stops.

His breath still comes in stuttering gasps as he waits. Waits for the door to open, for the wet words and soft embrace and mouthed apology against his skin that he’s been dreaming about every night for the past month.

He keeps waiting. So does the figure outside.

Eventually he hears the softest whisper of a sigh through the wood and those same footsteps walking away, taking the last of Yuuri’s hope with them.

Eventually, he curls under the duvet, dry, lonely and cold. The sheets aren’t as soft as the ones in his room and they don’t smell quite right to be comforting, but there’s nothing else to do, nowhere else to go right now. The force of his crying eventually drags him into slumber, coloured images of him running into warm, outstretched arms dancing through his mind as he finally falls into a numbing sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be waiting in the wings with blankets and hot chocolate if you need it after that.


	3. All I know is you are there and I am here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the darkness can help. And sometimes it can just make things worse.

The brief respite of Yuuri’s sleep is short lived.

Like an anchor slowly being breached from still waters, so to is he slowly pulled to consciousness, the force of the blankets moving quietly jostling him awake.

The room is a blurred darkness, a mess of shifting navy shadows and soft lines without his glasses. It’s as he’s brought more fully awake that he notices the one thing that wasn’t in the room when he fell asleep: a figure, dark but prominent in the space as they slowly move across the bed until they’re sitting fully in top of the covers.

Yuuri recognises the whispered scent of their skin immediately.

“Victor?”

The figure shifts in the dark, carefully moving over the covers until the mussed silver of his fringe shines a little more prominently in the low light. His eyes are wide, dim but open like twin pools in the moonlight.  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, slowly laying down against the blanket until he’s level with Yuuri. “I can’t sleep.”

Yuuri curls his fingers a little harder into the mattress, the urge to fix any errant hairs still as powerful as ever. He rolls more fully into his side, Victor’s face snapping more sharply into focus. “Me either.”

Yuuri realises he must not have been asleep long, cool droplets of water are still clinging like pearls to Victor’s hairline, the red from the chilled slap of the water still a firm blush on his skin.

He wants to touch him. Desperately. Wants to caress and hold and wrap him in his hoodie until they were both warmed, but he knows he can’t. Such casual touches had been shrugged off or flinched away from more times than he can count over the past few weeks, like his fingers were burning, his skin unwanted. It’s like they’re walking on increasingly thin ice around each other, the weight of seemingly meaningless words sometime enough to make it crack beneath his feet.

He doesn’t want it to happen now.

“I didn’t mean to be so short with you,” Victor continues quietly, holding Yuuri’s gaze. “That wasn’t fair.”

He doesn’t move any closer, but carefully lifts himself to rest on his elbow so he’s staring down at Yuuri. His bottom lip is lightly pinched between his teeth, expression tight and held.

Yuuri can sense that he’s waiting for him to make his move, to answer or close the space between them. He wants to, wants to put this all behind them and pull him close but right now he just- can’t.

Right now he just wants to go to sleep. In his dreams he can forget, can be whoever he wants and dance through the sweetened colours of old memories with a permanent smile tattooed on his lips.

“It’s fine Victor,” he says flatly. He resists the urge to turn his back, wanting to hear him out.

He’s sick of being the only one bothered, the one waiting up for him, waiting for him to text him back, to make some meaningful contact-

_Being the only one who was trying to fix this._

If Victor finally has something to say. He’s going to let him speak. Live in hope that he’ll at least try.

He watches something unreadable flash across Victor’s expression before he quietly sighs, releasing his lip. “No. No it’s not,” he whispers, moving a little closer, the words small and cold like a long-held confession. “Nothing’s fine right now.”

Yuuri feels the word pierce through his mind like a knife. It’s the first time in weeks he’s said anything about their situation, the first time he hasn’t dismissed it like the notion was some annoying fly that needed to be squashed.

He drops his gaze from Victor’s, desperately trying to keep his breathing even as he replies. _“I know.”_ The words shake a little as he speaks, a familiar burn hot in his throat. He’s not sure if he even has any more tears to shed anymore, but the quiet admission of just how fractured the picture of their life was right now was threatening to spill the last ones he has left.

They don’t say anything else for a while.

Victor stays where he is, but his rigid posture melts a little, his other hand upturned against the sheets. It’s slow, but Yuuri can see it moving just that little bit closer to him like a peace offering, a white flag finally being waved over the battlefield of their indifference.

He barely realises that he own hand has escaped the warmth of the duvet and has wormed its way over to Victor’s. His skin is a little cold to the touch, but their hands still fit together like two forgotten puzzle pieces made to match.

It’s a small intimacy, but the light touch burns like a candle against his skin.

He sees the soft shine of Victor’s eyes slowly move form their entwined hands back to his face. There’s a silent plea to his expression, a wordless want that Yuuri remembers from months past.

He doesn’t resist.

He lets his hand and his eyes move from Victor’s and up the warm contour of his arm. The light hair tickles against his touch a little, the firm plane of muscle under his forefinger so familiar yet new. He continues to follow the soft lines of his skin like a forgotten treasure map, his fingers barely a ghost’s caress until he reaches the dip of his collar bone. He pauses there, softly splaying his whole hand against the pale canvas of his skin as he lifts his eyes to finally meet Victor’s properly.

Victor doesn’t stay idle any longer, slowly moving his own body until he’s leaning fully over Yuuri, his thighs cradling the soft bracket of Yuuri’s hips over the blanket. Yuuri keeps his hand where it is, lightly brushing his thumb across the pinkening skin of Victor’s chest, feeling the way his heartbeat and his breathing increase a little until it’s like the pulse of a hummingbird's wind under his palm.

His hair falls like a curtain of starlight from his head, the flutter of his breaths inching closer until there’s barely a whisper between them. He’s still taking it slow, still giving Yuuri the chance to opt out, to push him away and roll under the blanket like this never happened.

He doesn’t do any of those things.

As he kicks the blanket down and reaches both his arms around the soft curves of Victor’s spine, he knows that he’s being weak, knows that he shouldn’t let Victor lean down and kiss him like it’s nothing, stroke the arch of his throat like he cared, should stop him slipping his other hand down his chest and his stomach until he’s teasing him over his pants like an expert, his touch warm and practiced- but he doesn’t. He knows he can’t.

Right now he doesn’t care. Right now his body _needs_ this.

It’s a blur after that.

It’s like they’re picking up the steps of a forgotten dance as they move together. It’s messy, quick, fumbling, but they’re both still acutely aware of the rhythms of each other's bodies, what to do to make the other gasp and beg to be touched. Yuuri doesn’t have to think, just feel. Concentrate on nothing but  the pressure of each of Victor’s fingertips as he pulls at Yuuri’s clothes until he’s bare and the taste of all that forgotten skin as he follows an old familiar trail down between Victor’s spread thighs. The echoing moan that drips from the other man’s lips is like some ancient prayer lost to time, but as sweet as a symphony to Yuuri’s ears.

He lets it all melt away like the lingering snow outside, his mind emptying all his strain until he’s sinking back into the heated intimacy that he was so sure was just a burnt shadow.

It doesn’t take long for either of them to finish. A few firm caresses of hands and tongues and they’re both crying out in near silent pleasure as their ecstasy washes hot from their mouths and between their bodies. Victor pulls his head up from under the sheets and rests it against Yuuri’s chest for a few seconds. The chill of his skin is long since chased away, his breathing loud and sweet in the dark air. Yuuri lets himself stroke the sweaty mess of his hair as he catches his breath, closing his eyes and wondering if they could live in this moment forever, stay relaxed and naked in the dream-like haze his can feel clouding his mind.

Still, all moments must pass.

All too soon Victor is rolling off of him and grabbing some tissues from the nightstand, hastily cleaning himself off. He keeps the new distance between them as he passes a few to Yuuri, his movements stiff.

Yuuri wants to say something, anything. There are a thousand conflicting thoughts buzzing like a swarm in his mind: about how amazing that was, about how it was a mistake, about how he just _can’t_ go back to the way things were earlier.

He’s surprised when Victor talks first.

“I’m just so tired Yuuri,” he whispers, his face now nothing but a blurred silhouette in the darkness. “Just… all the time and it’s not- I can’t…” he trails off, shaking his head as he drops his face to his palms with a soft smack. Yuuri can’t see the tears, but he can feel them shaking from Victor’s body, almost taste the salt and regret shining against his skin as he silently sobs, all hidden by the curve of his palms.

Yuuri feels his heart shatter just that little bit more. The fractured pieces slowly grind to dust as he watches the man he loves, the man he looked up to, the man he saw as strong as ice and steel now breaking as easily as porcelain in front of him.

He has to try. One last time. He _has_ to try and fix this.

“Victor.” His name catches in Yuuri’s throat as he leans over to rest his hand against Victor’s shoulder. His tone is a quiet plea. “ _Tell me_.”

Victor lifts his head, his breath stuttering as he exhales slowly, chest heaving with the effort. He keeps his face forward, his words wet and curt. “I’m sorry. I just- _can’t.”_ He breathes out again his fingers flexing in and out of tightened fists against his legs. “Not right now.”

Yuuri pulls his hand away, but keeps his gaze trained on him. “Then what am I supposed to do?” He tries and fails to keep the frustration out of his voice.

All he wants is to help, to try and fix this, to find some way to get them back to the way they were and yet Victor seems determined to block him at every turn.

_Like he can’t trust him. Like he doesn’t need him._

“Nothing.” Victor exhales again and finally turns to Yuuri, his lip swollen and red, clearly from where he’s bitten down on it. “Can’t we just- stay like this?” he murmurs wrapping his arms more surely around his knees, his back hunching over a little more.

It still hurts Yuuri to see, but he can feel that same bitter annoyance stoking like the embers of a dying fireplace in his gut. He sighs and lays back down against the mattress, turning away from him to stare at the flat white of the wall for a few seconds.

“That’s not good enough for me Victor,” he says as firmly as he can, the words old and sour against his tongue.

He feels Victor move towards him before pausing and retreating back to where he was. He hears him fall against the other side of the mattress, his own words a wintry hum in the darkness. “It’s late Yuuri. We can talk about this tomorrow.”

“We won’t though.” The words are past his lips before he has a chance to think. Even from the other side of the bed he feels Victor stiffen, but right now he just does not have it in him to care.

He had nothing else to give, no more olive branches to extend, no more words of desperation or help to offer that might make Victor open up to him, might break the lock around his heart that seem to appear when he first stepped back on the ice as his competitor.

As he drifts, a realisation slowly unfurls in his mind. It’s one he had weeks ago, but now he’s done pushing it away and telling himself that they just needed time.

Time might heal all wounds, but it can’t fix everything.

_And no matter how hard you try, some things in life just aren’t meant to be mended._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I PROMISE this will get better eventually.
> 
> I've been working through some of my own stuff and doing this is honestly very cathartic for me.
> 
> Comments always appreciated! :)


	4. I'm faraway stuck here

 

Getting his things to his new place doesn’t take as long as Yuuri first thought.

It starts out slowly: dropping off his spare gym bag when coming home from the rink, packing some old out of season clothes from the very back of his closet, boxing all the little trinkets he hastily threw into a suitcase while nervously staring at his one way plane ticket to St.Petersburg. They’re all things he theoretically doesn’t really need. Things he can live without should he choose to back out, choose to stay.

More than once he wavers on his decision. Packing some more of his clothes, he stops when his fingers brush the worn softness of an old red sweater. It takes him a second to realise that it isn’t his, that it’s the first piece of clothing he ever borrowed from Victor when he’d seen it mistakenly folded at the end of his bed. He stops himself as he goes to bury his face in the thick material, but the ghost of an old smell still brushes past his nose as he pulls it away. He recognises the cool scent of the ocean. Images of warm breezes and warmer smiles splash through his mind in dappled watercolours as he remembers quickly tugging it over his head on the last day of summer when the orange of the sunset had just started to sink below the horizon. He also remembers what happens after, the firmness of another hand in his, pulling him into the soft foam of the shallows as a dozen messy kisses were scattered like rose petals across his cheeks.

He stuffs it back into Victors side of the closet and quickly slams the door.

Like sand slipping through an hourglass, slowly more and more of his belongings make their way to the small apartment in a mess of disorganised piles. Each new box he carries through the door, carries a little piece of his heart with it. The sound of packing tape ripping is what he imagines his soul breaking might sound like as well.

He knows the route by heart. It’s much further away from the rink then he would have liked, but right now, this is all he can afford. Some shitty one bed with a cold breeze and colder looks in the eyes of the other tenants in a neighbourhood that almost scares him when he walks through it at night.

But doesn’t scare him as much as what he thinks might happen if he stays.

Part of him is almost glad he’s so far away, that they’re coming from opposite directions to train, that he can’t just accidentally end back at his old place when running.

 _Victor’s place_ he mentally corrects himself.

It bites whenever he thinks like that. Deep down he knows that once it was his place too. That for a while, even just a short while, they had a life here- _together._ He also knows that that safety and warmth haven’t been present between those four walls for what feels like an eternity at this point, it’s no longer the environment to nurture life and love.

It’s that thought that has him collecting the remnants of his livelihood and hiding them between four flimsy cardboard sides.

He knows he’s being a coward, finding the cheapest place he could in secret, packing when Victor isn’t home, keeping his words short and robotic at the rink. He wants to say that this is wrong, that he shouldn’t be doing this, but he just _can’t_. He knows this is what he needs to try and set his mind in some kind of order. Every time he thinks of stopping, the same cold sharp reasoning screams loudly in his mind.

He’s tried everything to fix this, tried time and time again to get Victor to talk to him, tried with all the warmth he could to break through the chilled wall of silence the other man had erected between them and at this point… frankly he’s just sick of being the only one putting in any effort to try and salvage whatever they are.

He knows he isn’t stupid. He can see Victor is hurting, that something is wearing down his spirit until all the brightness of his inspiration had dulled like stone tossed about in a stormy ocean, but nothing he had been doing had helped.

Until Victor has the willpower to actually tell him what’s wrong, there’s nothing else he can do to try and cement the cracks between them.

And he certainly doesn’t want to dwell on the fact that it was starting to feel like the other man just doesn’t care anymore.

And so the last of his things get carefully wrapped and slowly driven over to his new place.

He thinks about telling Yuri. Despite the sharpness that characterises the teenagers tongue, Yuuri knows that he cares, knows that he’s basically family at this point. Knows that this is hurting him too. He mocked and rolled his eyes whenever Victor and him were more than a little affectionate, but it was nothing compared to the quiver of fear Yuuri can see flash in his eyes as the indifference between Victor and everyone around him grew.

Unlike himself, Yuuri isn’t sure if Yuri actually knows how to be silent. He’d asked about it, hanging around after training and pointedly demanding,  _“what the hell is with you and the old man?”_ Yuuri didn’t have the energy to try and paint a rosier picture.

“He’s hurting. He’s hurting about something and he won’t tell me what,” he’d replied, trying to get round him so he could pick up the keys to his new apartment.

“It’s hurting you too isn’t it.” It’s not a question.

Yuri’s words had caught him slightly off guard. He knew he hasn’t been hiding his feelings that well at the rink, everytime Victor had given a less than enthusiastic comment, his whispered curses hadn’t been subtle, but Yuri wasn’t someone he expected to comment.

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve tried and tried and _tried_ and he just won’t- talk to me.” The words were gushing past his lips before he could stop himself, the fact that someone was finally acknowledging this breaking the lock he’d put around it all. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropped from Yuri’s. “I’ve tried to help but it’s like he won’t let me.”

“So don’t then.” He held up a hand when Yuuri’s eyes had shot back up in surprise. “Look _,_ I want him to go back to his normal _oh-my-god-will-you-stop-talking-for-five-seconds_ self as much as you. He’s useless to everyone here right now.” Yuri folded his arms and leaned forward a little, tone hushed. “But if he’s not going to take the help he’s freely being given by those who care, take it away and see what he does then.”

“It sounds so harsh when you put it like that.”

The teenager just shrugged at the comment. “Put yourself first for once. Believe it or not, you’re not here solely because of him.” He took another step forward, the blade of his expression suddenly softer. “It’s because you fought to be better.”

For the first time in weeks, Yuuri felt the smallest sliver of hope break through the thick bricks of doubt in his mind. He’d actually smiled as he started walking again, Yuri keeping up as he went. “I never expected to hear that from you.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll skate over your throat.” The words were blunt, but Yuuri could hear the slight playfulness behind them. “But I don’t think being around him is good for you right now.”

They’d continued the rest of the walk to Yuri’s place in a comfortable silence until he started to wave the younger man off.

“Hey, Yurio.” He’d stuffed a small piece of paper in his hand before he could question. “It’s my new address. I’m moving in next week.”

It had felt good to do that. Finally telling someone about everything that was playing on his mind, giving him the push to finish what he started.

There’s just one last thing he needs to do. Something that he knows is going to hurt more than the thousand heartbreaks he’s felt splinter in his chest every time he’d been swatted down when he tried to reach out.

He has to tell Victor.

He wants to be surprised that Victor hasn’t mentioned Yuuri’s disappearing things but with how much he’s been sleepwalking through his days like a zombie and collapsing in the guest room when getting home late that he really isn’t.

It’s almost a relief, but it still hurts just that little bit more. How his things, his _life_ can just vanish from the place they both called home and it not feel any emptier.

It’s the purpled dusk of a steely March evening when Yuuri finally gathers his courage.

He sits on the very edge of the sofa, wringing his hands together until his skin aches as he stares at the front door. The last box of his possessions are open at his feet. His skates are deliberately placed on top, next to his olympic jacket which is carefully pressed and folded. He hopes the image alone will be enough to convey what’s happening when Victor walks through the door.

He’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. He’s had weeks to think about how Victor might react to the news, had more than a dozen sleepless night to play out every scenario in his head, but even now he knows that the minute he sees the realisation dawn in Victor’s eyes that all his words will most likely disintegrate in his mouth.

But still, he can’t run from this. Even if Victor might want to.

Every minute feels like it’s being dragged through syrup as it passes. The light fades ever so slowly through the window until the shifting shadows gradually engulf the room in an unkind darkness. Yuuri uncrosses his legs and shifts on the couch as he watches the clock in the corner tick from nine to ten to eleven, the worry in his gut only pulsing more strongly as each hour passes.

It’s past midnight when he finally breaks.

Either Victor was pushing himself at stupid hours of the night, or he somehow knew what was coming, either way Yuuri is done hanging on for him. In any situation.

Exhaling slowly, he grabs a notepad from across the table and just starts writing. Everything he wanted to say for the past few weeks feels like it’s bleeding from his pen as he writes. All his anger, his love and his hurt spills onto the paper like the flow of so many of his tears as he goes, not stopping until everything he ever thought about the whole situation is stabbed into the pad in messy black and white.

Ripping the sheets from the notebook, he feels some of the weight also rip out from his chest as he throws the pen across the room. He doesn’t reread it, just turns the paper over and rubs his temples.

It’s not the closure he wanted. But it’s done. If Victor reads it, then he’ll finally know exactly what he’s doing to himself. To both of them.

It’s the final thing he’s going to do for Victor. At least until he deigns to reach out to him for once.

He knows he’s being bitter. Knows that if at last years GPF he could see what he was doing now, he’d scream that that wasn’t him. That he could never do that to Victor. That he’d find a way to make it work, yelling and crying that Victor would never do that to him.

He fights the ghostly burn of old tears at the thought.

He’d tried staying and it had done nothing. Maybe space was the only thing left that could heal the chilled air between them. It’s all he has left to try at this point.

He leaves the letter folded on top of the coffee table as he leans down to pick up the box at his feet.

He feels his body lock up a little as the ring on his finger glints softly in the low light.

It’s the one thing he’d refused to pack, refused to put away despite the fact it felt like it was getting heavier and heavier with the weight of old memories as each day passed. He twists it on his finger until the gold burns his skin raw as he stares at the paper in front of him. Eventually he takes it off and lets the warmed metal sits in the palm, the warped view of his own eyes staring back at him on the mirrored surface.

He dreams about the day he bought it almost nightly, vividly reliving the nervous buzz in his stomach as he slid the matching band onto Victor’s finger while the cold December air bit into his cheeks. When he’d passed his credit card across the counter, he really hadn’t known exactly what he wanted, just that he needed to do _something_ to show how much Victor’s support and love really meant to him.

Things he hasn’t felt for what feels like a lifetime at this point.

He feels something catch in his throat when he spins the ring between his fingers and catches the half snowflake still intricately etched inside. If there was one thing that kept him wavering it was how he knows Victor still has his on. He’d seen him twisting and rubbing it whenever the stress got too much, sometimes pressing the metal against his forehead like it could somehow draw out pain if he tried hard enough.

The rings were two halves. Two puzzle pieces made to be together. Golden wedding rings he’d bought in the hope he could hold onto the similarly golden joy that burst through his mind every time Victor took his hand.

They aren’t memories he’s willing to cut off just yet.

He puts it back on, carefully placing his keys to this apartment by the note instead.

Shutting the door behind him, he’s surprised by how easy it is to walk away now, even with the weight of their commitment still burning prominently and solid on his finger.

He’ll have to face Victor at the rink at some point, have to face whatever it is he might say, but that can wait for another time. He has a few days rest now, maybe he can use the time to figure out a new future.

Five World Championships was what he promised. It might be time to carve out a more realistic goal. One for both of them.

Collapsing into the single cot in his new place, he sleeps with his phone upturned by his face. He knows Victor probably won’t reach out immediately, maybe won’t even notice that he isn’t there when he finally comes home, but that doesn’t stop him turning up the ringer to full volume.

Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe it or not, things will be looking up next chapter.


	5. And he'll forget about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting there.

The first few days are easy. At least a little easier than Yuuri thought they’d be.

Waking up alone is something he’s already used to, so opening his eyes to the dull, cracked ceiling of his new place strangely doesn’t register as much different to him. It’s only when he turns over and hits the drywall rather than the expanse of a king-sized mattress does the reality of his situation smack him in the face a little more forcefully.

He really has left.

Sitting up and seeing the mess of moving boxes shadowed in the greyed light of pre-dawn, he can feel all the emotions from last night rouse from slumber, his own sleep feeling like he’d just pressed pause everything. It hurts, of course it hurts, but somehow it isn’t the spiralling dark pain he’d expected from eventually walking away. When he’d stayed, he’d felt worse than useless, every day sitting or training in suffocating silence only putting more weight on a wound he couldn’t numb no matter how hard he tried. At least now he’d pulled himself away. Step one of trying to get back on his feet.

Step two isn’t exactly something he’s thought of yet.

He slowly toes out of bed, hands immediately flailing out to grab the mattress as his legs give out from under him. He sucks in a curse as his knees clumsily make contact with the hardwood below, the strain from both skating and moving yesterday having finally crashed down on his limbs in a burning ache. He takes a few seconds to try and relax his muscles, shifting as best he can until his back is against the bed, legs stretched between the mess of boxes he’d haphazardly dumped over the past couple of weeks.

He bites down the thought about how his new place was about as organised as his mind, still firmly set that regardless of what happens, this was _his_ choice and he’s going to make the best of it.

He lets out a long sigh as he reaches for the nearest box, trying to find anything that might distract himself from the growing whirlpool of his thoughts.

He has a few days leave to try and get his head on straight, find someway to ground himself in a new kind of normal.

_And going back to the rink…_

He feels his stomach twist painfully at the thought.

Yes, he has his career to think of, but right now there’s so much more. He’s a figure skater, but he also has a life. A life he needs to figure out what to do with now he’s so brazenly drawn a line under everything that had happened in the past year.

He carefully sorts through the contents of the box, hands shaking a little when his fingers brush the carefully wrapped medals inside. 

He had a plan once, one planted in his mind under the stadium lights of a frosted Barcelona night, one he was so sure he could make work with the help of the person who said they believed in him the most.

He quickly shuts the box, throwing his head back against the bed to try and even his breathing.

_That dream had its time. Maybe it’s time to find one he can achieve on his own._

***

At least for the first day he has ways to distract himself. 

He makes his way through the small rooms, unboxing all the biggest items first and making a note of everything he needs to purchase over the coming days. He tries to ignore just how foreign everything around him feels, his own possessions just looking like they don’t quite belong in the new space. From his plates in the cupboard to his shoes by the door, everything just looked so… off. Like they didn’t want to be there.

It’s when he goes back to sit on his bed but just can’t get comfortable on the faded old sheet that the answer becomes coldly obvious.

It isn’t home.

He swats the thought away as he throws another empty box to the side with a little more force than necessary.

Victor’s place hadn’t felt like home weeks before he’d left, just four cold walls with two cold people floating through them at vastly different times of day. While this apartment is a far cry from the luxury of his old place, at least he can truly say it’s his.

_At least this is loneliness he’s opted for._

After the last box makes its way to the pile, he slowly sinks down on the living room floor rolling over to stare at the flat beige of the wall for a few long seconds. He reaches out to carefully flex his fingers, dusty and cut from all the tape he’d torn off while trying to completely readjust his life yet again.

_Time. That’s what he needs. He can figure this out if he just gives himself time to adjust._

He feels himself smirk bitterly at the thought.

He doesn’t want to wait, he wants to act. Wants to find something he can do that can _somehow_ fix the fracturing picture of his life and pick himself up. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s being idle.

He sighs and shifts to grab his phone from the edge of the sofa, pretending that he hadn’t been deliberately ignoring all the buzzing.

He really doesn’t have any good answers for anyone right now anyway.

There are a small number of messages from various people all asking how he’s been doing, some asking where he is or why he hadn’t been at practice today. Scrolling down, he tries not to drop the handset in frustration at the one person who hadn’t left a text. The one person Yuuri _definitely_ hasn’t been secretly hoping would have left at least three voicemails by now.

He sighs and locks it again, rolling onto his back to look at the shadows starting to creep across the ceiling.

_It’s only been one day. Maybe Victor needs time too._

_***_

By day three, Yuuri has his little routine set. Sleep for as long as possible, coffee, run, shower, TV, bed. He’s aware it’s monotonous, like he’s made himself into some kind of machine only capable of performing the most mundane tasks, but at least it keeps his mind just occupied enough to stop it wandering into darker crevices. He tries to fit in food when he can, but strangely comfort eating is the farthest thing from his mind right now. 

Every time he sits down for a meal, he can feel his brain start to idle. His phone stares at him with a wide dark eye, the temptation to check in on the outside world clawing at his mind with more powerful strokes each day.

He keeps it turned off as much as he can.

It’s not like he doesn’t want to talk to other people, in fact company something he feels like he desperately needs right now, but he honestly doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. 

Yuuri knows people will find out eventually, and while many will be tactful he also knows others are going to ask questions. 

The thought of them almost makes him physically nauseous.

Even if he had any clear answers, he sure as hell does not want to talk about it more than he physically has to.

He can feel his anxiety starting to swirl in his mind like a winter’s storm when he thinks of what the public might say, how many tweets there’ll be about how _it was bound to happen sooner or later,_ every fear about how him and Victor never even remotely made sense as a couple dancing in front of his eyes like some twisted marionette.

Eventually he texts Yuri, asking him to fill people in as quietly as he can. The thumbs up emoji he immediately sends back almost feels like a hug, the changing tone of his rinkmates’ messages that follow the first piece of relief he’s felt for days

Yuri texts a few more times throughout the week. They’re short little updates, either bragging about how he’s definitely going to snub Yuuri on the podium again or complaining about growing pains and Yakov. Yuuri knows him well enough to read between the lines, that it’s his way of showing that he still cares without actually saying it. 

It warms his heart a little, makes the concept of going back to the rink just that little bit less scary.

There’s still one question he hasn’t quite had the courage to send yet.

_How’s Victor?_

His finger hovers over the send button for a while.

It’s about the tenth time he’s typed out that message. It’s an innocent enough question yet the words sit like two heavy stones in his heart, the weight of the answer something he isn’t sure he’s ready for.

He quickly deletes the message and puts the phone down, letting out a hot shaky breath as he sits.

He almost hates himself for wondering. _Hates_ that it somehow still felt like he’s doing something wrong, that he’s being selfish for wanting to know if he’s okay.

His fist hits the table with a painful thud.

_Time Yuuri. You both need time._

He inhales firmly as he rubs his stinging hand. 

He’s been repeating that mantra to himself for days, like if he just turns those words over enough they might actually become true and somehow smooth over the ragged landscape of his brain.

It had been hard enough avoiding Instagram. He’d wavered on deleting the app for days, a hot needle of fear had lancing through him every time he saw a story update from one of his rinkmates. He knows it’s cowardly, but he just doesn’t know what he’ll do if he catches a glimpse of the other man and sees that he’s hurting. 

Or that he’s completely fine.

His finger slowly scrolls back to the app, his mind churning cocktail of both curiosity and fear as the logo taunts him from the middle of his screen.

_Could it hurt?_

With a defeated sigh he opens it, the nails of his other hand digging sharp crescents into his palm as the first image pops into view.

It’s the usual fare as he scrolls, Phichit’s hamsters, Chris in a photo that he knows will be taken down in the next fifteen minutes, various skaters showing off new parts of their routines and-

He almost drops his phone as the next image rolls into view.

For the first time in weeks Victor has posted something.

Since his schedule had picked up over the past couple of months his social media presence had dwindled, updates infrequent and short. Fans had questioned why such an instagram-happy couple had suddenly gone radio silent, but Yuuri had ignored the questions. They really were not his biggest problem.

He feels his hand shake as he brings the phone screen closer, desperately trying to make sense of the picture so vivid and bright and in front of him.

It’s a selfie, Victor smiling and posing at the edge of the rink while his free hand gestures to Yuri mid-jump behind him. His hair is washed, clothes cleaner than he’d seen them in a while, cheeks damp and reddened like he’d just finished a major workout.

Yuuri feels his heart stutter in his chest as he takes in the easy happiness on his expression, at  just how… _normal_ he looks, like nothing had happened to faze him at all. He can still see the telltale signs of tiredness smudged around his eyes, but this was the first time in weeks Yuuri has seen him so put together.

He feels something clamp around his gut as he scrolls down to read the small caption, mind spinning as he tries to process exactly what he’s seeing, what this really meant, that he somehow had to be misreading the picture.

An almost inhuman nose leaves Yuuri’s mouth when he flicks the image back up, one detail suddenly flashing clear as the gaudiest beacon. 

His ring is gone. 

He only needs to briefly glance down at the comments to see that everyone else has noticed too.

 

  * __Hey you’re back! Why the long break?__


  * _Am I the only one seeing that his ring is gone?_


  * _ARE VICTUURI SPLITTING UP!??_


  * _Is that why Yuuri hasn’t been in any of your pictures recently?_


  * _I guessed this was why they hadn’t been posting as much._



 

His phone hits the wall before he feels it leave his hand.

“He’s fine,” he whispers quietly to himself, knees weak as he slowly drags himself back to his bedroom. “He’s… he’s completely fine.” The words burn sourly on his tongue as he sits, the reality of why everything went wrong suddenly clearer than the ugliest picture in his mind.

He looks at himself in the mirror, eyes wide and terrified as he reflection confirms the one thing he’d feared the most ever since he’d first noticed Victor’s bad mood.

_“It was me.”_

His face smashes into his mattress before he has time to breathe.

_All his fault, all of it, it was all his fault. He’d spent so long trying to fix a problem when the only thing driving them apart was himself._

A deep, primal whine seeps into the sheets around him, his hands balled into tight, painful fists as a panic stronger than an oncoming storm starts to shake his mind at the root. His breath spirals into a messy staccatoed rhythm, his lungs feeling like they’re slowly burning as every bad awful thought he had about himself creeps out of the recesses of his mind to whisper loudly and cold.

He presses his hands to his ears like in a vain attempt to quiet the voices, the air around him suddenly dry and thick as angry, unwelcome tears soak the bedding in front of him. A mess of snot a saliva slowly run across his face until his rough sobs morph into a strangled choke.

He curls into the tightest ball he can as the anxiety burns its way through his body, uncaring of all the noise he’s probably making and what his neighbours might think.

He already thought he’d broken. Turn out there was still part of himself left to shatter.

He wraps himself as firmly as he can in the sheet, lets every piece of hate and fear claw its way out of him until his throat is torn and raw, the image of Victor’s face still smiling mockingly in front of his stinging swollen eyes.

He doesn’t move from that same spot for the rest of the night.

The next day is hard. 

Fishing his phone from the floor of the living room, he winces when he sees the smashed edge of the screen partially obscuring a flurry of notifications. 

Guilt twists in his stomach at the sheer number of missed calls from friends and family alike, over a hundred texts questioning what the hell was going on with him and Victor. He slowly rubs his eyes as he methodically deletes each one, breathing finally evening a little as his screen begins to clear of questions he didn’t want to answer.

_Not now. Not today._

He swallows when he gets to the bottom a sees a few missed messages from Yuri, each angrier than the last.

Yuuri briefly flicks his eyes around the baron sterility of his apartment before back to the messages, quickly typing one out.

_ >>>> What are you doing right now? _

He’s surprised to see Yuri reply within seconds.

_ <<<< Nothing much. Why? _

_ >>>> I’m going to make food, want to come over? _

Yuuri takes another breath as he hits send. He may look like a complete wreck right now, but Yuri is the only one that really knows what’s going on. Maybe his company isn’t such a bad thought.

He smiles a little when his phone vibrates a few seconds later.

_ <<<< Sure. But nothing too heavy, I’m skating early tomorrow. _

_ >>>> Okay _

_ <<<< Aren’t you coming back to the rink in a couple of days? _

His fingers hover over the keyboard, breath caught in his throat at the question. All the days here had started to blur together in a dry, aching haze, so he’d almost forgotten that he’d have to go back soon, that he had a career to work on and a world record to defend.

After yesterday, he’s not sure if has the courage to even try anymore.

_ >>>> I don’t know. _

He sees Yuri type out several messages and delete them, every second ticking past slow and painful as he waits.

_ <<<< I think you need to. Things are really fucked up without you. _

Victor’s picture flashes through his mind in vivid gaudy colours. His thumbs press a little harder than necessary as he types his response. 

_ >>>> Everyone looks just fine to me. _

Yuri takes more than a few seconds to respond, Yuuri almost able to feel his eye roll through the phone.

_ <<<< Okay then. Do whatever. I can’t stop you. _

He winces at the sharpness of Yuri’s answer. He presses his phone against his forehead in frustration before quickly tapping out another message.

_ >>>> You still want to come over? _

The dots on the screen disappear for a few long minutes. Yuuri’s teeth sink painfully into his lip as he waits, terrified that he’d gone and lost the one person who actually knew what was going on with him right now. 

As he goes to bury himself back in his blanket, he suddenly feels his phone vibrate in his hand again.

_ <<<< Yes. I’ll be there in an hour. _

_***_

The knock at the door comes barely fifteen minutes later.

Yuuri carefully pulls his skillet from the heat, confused as to how Yuri had gotten here so fast.

He grabs his coffee mug as he goes to open the door, hoping that Yuri hadn’t told anyone else where he was.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you come early for anything,” he murmurs as he swings open the door. “Did you get a ride-”

He almost drops his mug when he registers who’s in front of him.

A pair of worn, blue eyes stare back at him through the rain, silver hair a wet matted mess across his face.

Yuuri has to remind himself to breathe. _“Victor?”_

Every part of him looks broken and worn to the skin, eyes hollowed and dark like he’d been wandering the streets for hours. His lips are pale and pulled taught, his bottom lip feathered and cracked where he’d clearly been chewing it. Looking down, Yuuri barely supresses his gasp at the large, purplish bruises blossoming across the pale canvas on his hands, his fingers red and swollen from the cold.

Yuuri knows what bruises from falling out of a jump look like and that isn’t it. He’d clearly been punching something. Repeatedly and hard.

Yuuri sees him take a visible breath, faded eyes crinkling a little as he holds up his hand. “Hey.”

Yuuri carefully places his cup on the small table by the door, words dry in his throat as he takes in the messy sight in front of him. This isn’t the Victor he saw yesterday, isn’t some smiling and carefree person ready to get on with his life. This man looks the absolute epitome of broken.

And he breaks his heart yet again.

“What are you doing here?”

“Yurio gave me the address and I- I thought I could...” Victor swallows again, expression twisting like he’s forcing something painful down before he continues. “Can I come in?”

Yuuri blinks a few times as he slowly looks Victor up and down again, desperately trying to make sure that what he’s seeing is actually real.

Victor was here. Was actually here. Here and looked like the past few days had torn him up as much as it had Yuuri. 

Part of him wants to shut the door, bolt it and run from what he’d done to him, to the man he still _loves_ more than anything in the world. Another part wants to scream and yell and demand and explination about what the fuck he’s been doing the past week until his throat is hoarse and his words meaningless.

One just wants to hold him. Hold him and collapse and cry and tell him that everything is going to be okay. That they’re going to be okay.

Yuuri takes a second to steady himself and push all those thoughts down before looking back to Victor still wet and shivering in his doorway.

Yes this is hard, but there’s one thing they have to do first if they want this to go anywhere, no matter how badly he wants to forget everything and just move on.

Letting out another sigh, Yuuri steps aside to open the door a little wider.

“Okay.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending and it's coming.


	6. Stop the world. Please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some truths come to light and the end is finally in sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight months in the works and it's finally here!
> 
> I know it's been forever since I updated, but I couldn't just leave the story where it was. These boys deserve a proper ending.

It’s strange seeing Victor in his new place.

After letting him in Yuuri had quickly made a hasty excuse about making tea and fled into the kitchen. Watching the kettle boil, he can feel his heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest. The sight of Victor so cold and broken in his doorway was such a sudden shock he doesn’t really know what to do, what he _should_ do now that’s he’s actually here with him.

He tries to even his shaky breathing as he pours the tea into two cups. Leaning back slightly, he can just about see the Victor’s legs as he sits rigidly on the sofa, his hands clasped tightly on his knees.

He quickly looks back to the tea, his throat tightening.

Yuuri knows he’s acting stupidly. Victor being here was what he wanted wasn’t it? Why is he suddenly wishing he was alone again?

At one point Victor was the closest person in the world to him, someone he opened all of himself up to, even the darkest most ugly parts he’d tried to bury for so long. 

He looks down to the ring on his finger, still shining bright in the flickering lights of his kitchen.

He shakes his head when he catches his own tired eyes staring back at him, the toll of the last few weeks clear even on the small warped surface.

Yuuri sighs as he firmly grabs the mugs and walks out into the living room.

_No. He wasn’t that any more. Now Yuuri isn’t even sure what they were supposed to be._

He hands Victor the mug without a word, awkwardly hovering by the edge of the sofa. Victor thanks him quietly, not quite meeting his face as he takes a long sip of the tea.

Yuuri tries not to stare too hard at the bruises on his hands, unable to fights that guilt that it was the first tangible piece of evidence that his absence had actually had an impact.

“Nice place,” Victor eventually murmurs, not taking his eyes off the tea.

“It’s really not but it’ll do.”

“Renting?”

“Three month lease at the moment.”

“Right.” Victor carefully places the mug on the coffee table, eyes slowing taking in the bare expanse of Yuuri’s living room. “When I read your note and you said you’d actually moved I just didn’t quite believe it.” 

Yuuri swallows, wincing a little at Victor’s small, pained tone. “Well I’m here.”

“Yeah.” There’s another beat of silence between them, Victor twisting the bottom of his shirt awkwardly between his fingers as his sits. “I-I should have called.”

“Yes. You should have.” 

Victor flinches at Yuuri’s blunt response, expression pinching a little. “I was going to- really I was. I just- I-” He stops for a second, releasing his shirt so he can rub his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I guess I just didn’t want to accept it. That I could just imagine you were visiting your parents or something.”

Yuuri sighs and sits down next to him, keeping his eyes trained to the wall. “I couldn’t stay.”

“Why?”

Yuuri fights the urge to turn to him. He knows the look in his eyes will be too much. “You said you read my note. You know why.”

He hears Victor sigh, catches the way his fingers curl into fists against his thighs. “Yeah. You’re right.”

There’s another long moment of silence. Yuuri can hear every one of Victor’s laboured breaths, the rustle of the couch between them as he awkwardly shifts, the nervous tap of his foot against the floor- and he can’t help but feel frustrated.

This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. 

Ever since he’d arrive here, he’d always ended up dreaming about this moment. Yuuri had long since run out of words, but Victor had known the right things to say, apologised, promised that everything could go back to the way it was and they’d never have to feel like this again. 

He shakes the memories of his dream away, eyes falling back on Victor. He looked broken, exhausted, one gust of wind away from disintegrating in front of his eyes- but he was _here._

He might not know what to say, but this has to mean something.

Yuuri swallows again and moves a little closer, an old bitterness rising in his throat when his gaze drops to Victor’s hand.

“You don’t have your ring on.”

Victor jerks his head to meet Yuuri’s. “I still have it.” He pulls his wallet from his pocket, fishing around inside until the familiar gold is held delicately between his fingers. “When you left I just couldn’t... “ He flounders for a second as he turns the ring over in his hand, eyes fixed to the one still resting on Yuuri’s finger. “They’re a pair.”

Yuuri thinks back to the picture he’s seen on Instagram, the carefree look in his eyes next to his bare fingers. The same pain lances like a cold needle through his brain. 

He quickly turns away. “You seem like you’ve been doing just fine.”

“Do I look fine?”

Yuuri breathes out sharply. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t know anything that’s been going on with you.”

When he looks back up, Victor has his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his ring still clasped between his fingers. “It’s- complicated,” he says quietly. “I wasn’t ready to tell you.”

Yuuri feels his hands tighten in his lap. He’s heard these words before and they’re still not enough. “I let you in because I thought you’d actually want to talk,” he replies as cooly as he can. “But if you’re just going to dance around the issue again then- then you should leave.”

It almost hurts to say the words, to see them hit Victor like a physical strike as he stops fiddling with his shirt- but he knows that he has to.

He’s too tired to go through it all again.

Victor is silent for a moment before he shifts closer, tentatively reaching out his hand. Yuuri doesn’t flinch as it gently lands on his leg, the weight surprisingly grounding. 

“No, no I’ll talk. I will,” he says softly, eyes boring open and deep into Yuuri’s. “Just, please- give me a minute.” 

 Yuuri wants to be sceptical. It sounds so close to the excuses he’s heard time and time again over the past few months, yet now- he just can’t find it in himself to brush him off. He takes a minute to fully take in the soft plea painted so taught and desperate on Victor’s face until he finds himself nodding.

He can give him the time now. Even if it’s just a little.

Victor takes a long slow breath, fingers pressing a little harder into Yuur’s leg as he finally starts to speak.“Yuuri this is the first season since I started skating that I’ve felt… scared. With you and my own routines and coming back to compete after a year.. it’s just so much.” Victor shuts his eyes briefly, something dark and painful flickering across his expression. It takes him another few seconds to speak. “Within a couple of weeks I-I knew that it was too much.”

Yuuri doesn’t reply, but nods again. This isn’t news to him, he’d suspected as much long ago, maybe even the first time he’d seen Victor fall during practice.

He’s never thought he’d actually admit it though. 

Victor keeps his hand resting solidly on Yuuri’s leg as he continues, the words soft and cold. “I thought that if I just powered through then it would all work out. That everything would just go back to normal.” He lets out a short, staccatoed laugh at his own statement. It’s a painful sound. “But it was like the more I tried, the worse it got, I could see everything was falling apart, that I was failing myself and you and Yura but it was like I couldn’t stop.” He finally opens his eyes, now bright and wet with unshed tears. “I just couldn’t admit that I wasn’t... “

Yuuri leans in a little when he doesn’t continue, moving his hand so it lightly rests over Victor's. “Wasn’t what?”

He sighs and shakes his head, words barely a whisper as he continues. “Wasn’t _Victor Nikiforov_ anymore.” He spits his own name like it’s poison, his whole body tensing at the confession. “No one’s ever been able to touch me. I can’t not be that person anymore. I just couldn’t acknowledge it.”

Yuuri sighs, moving his fingers to lightly caress the back of his hand. He understands Victor’s pain, he really does He can’t even imagine how much it hurt, and as much as he wants to instantly forgive him, he also knows that’s still not an excuse for what happened.

Yuuri knows that he deserves more. And they both need to move past this.

He keeps his hand resting against Victor's trying desperately to keep his own voice level. “Problems don’t go away just because you ignore them.”

“I know.”

“And yet you kept doing it.”

He almost regrets his words when Victor flinches away at the statement.

“I know what I did was wrong,” he murmurs after a moment. “That I pushed you away and hurt and ignored you and have been the worst possible coach imanibale-” He stops for a second, the first wave of tears spilling free and messy down his cheeks. “I just couldn’t let you see me as _weak.”_

Yuuri doesn’t stop himself as he reaches over the gently brush the tears of his trembling cheeks. It’s a familiar gesture. A lump burns in his throat as the memory of when he’d said he was retiring flashes through his mind, the damp curve of Victor's skin against his touch something he’d sworn he’d never wanted to cause ever again.

“I never thought you were weak.”

Victor pulls away from his hands, wiping the remaining wetness with the back of his own sleeve. “I’ve seen the posters. I know I was your inspiration. From the minute I realised I loved you I always kind of knew I’d be competing with this idea of me that you had. Like I was some kind of ice god.” 

Yuuri swallows. He’d confessed about the posters long ago, Victor brushing it off as a joke with a smile and a wink. He’d never thought it could have such an impact on him. “Victor-”

“But that was stupid. I was stupid.” Victor’s words are becoming more rushed, the heat of desperation in his voice clear against Yuuri’s skin. “I’m sorry. For everything. I know that’s not enough, but I am.” He pauses for a second to exhale shakily. “Just- please forgive me.”

Yuuri is shifting closer to Victor in an instant. He knows the apology is overdue, that this whole stupid _stupid_ situation could have been solved so much sooner if they’d just talked like this to begin with - but he also knows what those words from Victor meant. How much it hurt him to say.

And how there could only ever be one answer.

“ _Of course_ I forgive you,” he murmurs, hands squeezing a little tighter around Victor’s. It feels good to say the words, better to reach over and slowly start straightening the tangled mess of Victor’s hair around his eyes. He knows Victor has more to say, but so does he- words he’s been holding back ever since he’d first put a ring on Victor’s finger. “Victor before I even fathomed that I loved you, I knew that you weren’t the person I saw on those posters. You were so much deeper, so much kinder, and so much more flawed.” He sees Victor shake a little at the words, but he keeps his tone gentle, hands still carding lightly through the soft downy hairs around his ears. “But I loved that. You’re amazing, but you’re also a person.” He stops for a second, pulling a hand away as he looks down. “You were my person.”

Victor breathes out slowly, words whispered like the gentlest confession. “I still am.”

“Victor-” 

He’s cut off by Victor’s hands against his again, fingers digging almost painfully into his own.

“Please come home _.”_ Victor’s hands tighten a little as he speaks, like if he let go Yuuri would somehow disappear. “ _Please.”_

Yuuri feels the _yes_ catch in his throat, desperate to escape past his lips. It’s all he’s wanted since he’d stepped foot in this apartment- every hour that passed making that idea seem more and more like some abstract fantasy. 

And deep down he knows that’s still what it is. A fantasy.

“I want to. God knows I want to,” he eventually answers, holding up his hand when Victor starts to respond. “But I can’t.”

“Yuuri-”

“Not until I know I can trust you to talk to me,” he continues firmly, desperately trying to keep his words steady. “Otherwise, we’re just going to end up here again.”

“I will.”

The words are just a little too quick from Victor’s mouth, the words tasting of desperation rather than real truth. 

Yuuri swallows and shakes his head again. “Victor this won’t be the last time something happens that makes you feel small or scared. We’re only getting older so competing is only going to get harder and you can’t just ignore an issue every time it comes up.”

“I won’t.”

“Can you promise that? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you’ll actually talk to me when something like this happens again?”

Victor immediately opens his mouth to respond but closes it again as the question sinks like lead through the air. Yuuri knows he’s touched on a painful button, that tackling difficult emotions head-on was never something Victor ever enjoyed doing. Even before their issues over the past couple of months, he was still shaking off most problems with a practiced laugh and a smile.

And Yuuri knows how much it will take for him to change.

“I-I don’t know,” Victor answers softly, hands balled tightly against his legs. His eyes widen with panic when he sees Yuuri start to turn away. “But I want to. You must know that I want to.”

“I do,” Yuuri whispers, almost hating himself for what he’s about to say. “But that doesn’t mean anything if you’re never going to act on it.”

Victor nods, eyes not quite meeting Yuuri’s. “I know. I just- don’t really know what I’m supposed to do.”

“Make a decision!” Yuuri stops himself when he hears how loud the words comes out, the noise bouncing cold and frustrated around the walls of the small room. It’s what he’s wanted to scream at Victor for months at this point, words whispered to his sleeping silhouette, a text typed out and deleted over and over again- and now finally _finally_ out in the open.

He’s tired of watching them dither at the crossroads. It’s time for them to choose a path.

Even if it’s not the same one.

He takes a second to ease his shaky breath before continuing. “You can’t do all this by yourself anymore. You aren’t being a good coach to me and you aren’t in any shape to compete.” He fights the urge to stop as watches Victor flinch at the words. “If you’re serious, then choose. Because I’m not going to come back just to watch you break.”

Yuuri watches the words sink in, the way his mouth opens slightly, the hurt seeping into his expression like water through his ceiling cracks. He knows it’s an ultimatum, knows he’s asking him to choose between the two things he loves most- and it hurts that he genuinely doesn’t know which he’ll pick.

Despite the cold sneer of his own anxiety and every doubt he’d seen expressed sharp and cruel from the press and public alike- Yuuri isn’t stupid. He knows how much Victor loves him, how Yuuri wasn’t the only one terrified that one day this would all fall apart. 

But he’s also seen the love on Victor's face when he’d announced he was going to start competing again, the want painted clear as the sun as he’d watch Yurio skate at the GPF, how much he’d longed to get back to it.

Skating was his first love. His oldest. One which he’d given up for a year for Yuuri and one he isn’t sure if he’d be willing to give up again for the sake of their short relationship.

He watches Victor wrestle with his thoughts for a long minute, trying not to let the worries thoughts brewing like a storm in his mind show too obviously on his face. 

_He needs what best for him. And maybe… that isn’t you._

Victor stares at the tight knot of his fingers in his lap for a while longer before finally sitting up straight, eyes bright and firm as they meet Yuuri’s.

“Fine. I choose you.”

Yuuri is pulled from his thoughts instantly at the soft words.”What?”

“I’ve made up my mind. I'll coach you exclusively and step down from competitive skating.”

Yuuri takes a second to make sure he’s heard him correctly. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”

Victor nods slowly, words quiet. “I’ve stood on the podium enough, it’s your turn.”

“You love competing.”

“I love you more.”

Yuuri holds the brief burst of joy in his chest, sure that this couldn’t be true. It was too easy, too quick, there’s no way something wouldn’t come along to sour this. 

He wets his bottom lip, desperately trying not to look away. “You’ll resent me for it.”

“Oh my god.” Victor throws his hands up, frustration clear as they land with a slap against his forehead. “I've made my choice Yuuri. That’s what you wanted me to do and you still don’t believe me?” He rubs the heels of his hands across his head as if trying to massage out the bad thoughts. “This is what I _want_ Yuuri. Really.” He lowers his hands, shifting forward ever so slightly as he continues with cool, soft words. “Back in December I was so sure this would all work, that I could do both. When I saw the look on your face when I said I’d coach and compete against you...” He bites his lips, shoulders sagging slightly. “I just wanted to hold onto that.”

Yuuri swallows the lump starting to form in his throat. He remembers the feeling well. “Victor-”

“But what I’ve been doing hasn’t been making either of us happy,” he continues quickly, closing the remaining distance between them until their knees brush lightly under the coffee table. “I know there’s not much time left where I can still compete and that there are fifteen year old’s who can do what I can now.” They both chuckle slightly at his words, thoughts of Yurio lording his world record over Victor’s head flashing through Yuuri’s mind. Victor reaches out to touch him again, gently resting his hand against the curve of his leg. “I don’t want to give up the life I can have with you for the sake of a medal I’m not even sure I can still win.”

Yuuri feels the burn of a new kind of tears started to well in his eyes. No bitterness, no anger, no regret. Something aching and sweet and new.

Relief.

“I’ll be happy with whatever you choose. I promise,” Yuuri whispers, grateful for the grounding weight of Victor’s touch against his skin. With all the feelings starting to swirl in his mind, he feels like he could float away at any second.

He sees Victor smile, the greyed exhaustion on his face finally giving way to something a little brighter. It’s so beautiful. “And this is what I want to do,” he murmurs, slowly bringing Yuuri’s fingers to his mouth and mouthing the softest kiss against his skin. “You’re my gold now.”

Yuuri doesn’t fight tears this time, letting them spill hot and messy down his face at the familiar words. Victor had said them countless times, both in and out of bed. Back then, Yuuri had always thought they were a tease, something cute and sappy murmured after one too many glasses of wine, but now he can feel the full weight of them settling in his heart. 

And right now, he isn’t sure if anything has ever sounded sweeter.

He puts his hand on top of Victor’s, leaning over to lightly rest his forehead against his.  “Okay then.”

Victor’s eyes blink open. “Really?”

Yuuri lets out a wet laugh, quickly wiping behind his eyes as all the emotion from the past few months bubbles over in a warm mess. “If you say you’re going to do this, then I believe you.”

Victor’s smile widens, his arms wrapping around Yuuri as he pulls him into a desperate hug. Yuuri lets himself fall against him, stuttering out a gentle laugh as Victor buries his face against his shoulder, mumbling warmly against his neck. _“Thank you.”_

Yuuri isn’t sure how long they stay like that, content to just slump boneless in Victor's arms and breathe in the rich scent from his skin for the rest of time. He hasn’t been held like this in so long and he’d forgotten just how _nice_ it is.

After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Yuuri feels himself being lightly pulled, Victor moving them until they’re both sitting upright again. “Come on,” he says, words as soft and mellow as his expression as he pulls them both from the couch, “let’s go home my love.”

_Home._

He feels himself crying a little harder at the words. It feels like forever since he’d been able to call anywhere home, like there was nowhere he truly belonged. But now, hand in hand with the man he loves and secure in the knowledge that things were _finally_ different- he knows what it is.

Or rather, who it is.

He quickly wipes his face, laughing as Victor leans down to softly kiss away one of the tears on his cheek. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

They aren’t okay, not by a long shot, but for the first time in months, Yuuri feels like he can see Victor again. His Victor. Can finally see a way back to that connection they once had.

And he knows that it’s more than enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This fic was a journey from beginning to end.
> 
> When I first started writing it, I really wasn't in a good place. I thought channelling some of that energy into my writing would help but... after a while it just got a little too real. I won't go into detail, but some of the elements here hit very close to home and rereading what I'd done already just made me realise how bad I really was when I was writing it. I had to take a bit of a step back to actually sort myself out before I could really write the ending that these two deserved. The one thing I always think relationships need is healthy communication, but also the knowledge that you both need to put in the effort to acknowledge and solve problems when they arise. I just hope I got that across.
> 
> Life doesn't always have happy endings, but this story can. And thankfully I can finally say I'm in a much better place both creatively and emotionally. 
> 
> (Sorry for the long notes :P )
> 
> Thanks again so much for reading. Sorry I left it for so long

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry. I don’t leave things angsty forever.
> 
> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](https://ravensmores.tumblr.com/) \- @ravensmores  
> Or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RavensmoresFics) \- @ravensmoresfics


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